


Contrary

by sasha_b



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-04 16:51:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick remembers both Shane and Lori.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contrary

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS for **Better Angels**.

Rick’s hands tremble, the bloody knife he holds shaking, the steel knocking against the ring he wears on his left hand. He swallows again and again, waits for Shane to do something, to say something, to leap back up, to reach for his gun, lying useless at the other man’s side in the sticky darkness of the clearing they’d found themselves in.

Strange when he looks at Shane now, laying flat on his back, unmoving, the night pressing in on them – all he can think of is the stubble on the other man’s throat. Not the darkness of his eyes, or the way his mouth quirks funny when he smiles, or the asshat comments he’s made the entire time Rick’s known him.

The bruises that sometimes show up on Shane’s throat a few days after is what Rick sees. Shane doesn’t give a shit, obviously, as he doesn’t wear anything different or try to cover them up. He merely pops his eyebrows up and down when anyone asks about the purple marks, suggestive leer on his traditionally square face, and the other folk’ll laugh and drop the subject.

Rick finds that odd and very un-Shane like, because Shane’s nothing if not egotistical. Or a braggart. Not that he’d know that or admit to it –

Lori’s different.

Rick had been glad when he’d found her. He loved Shane – fuck, loves Shane, his brother and partner in all things even when the other man pisses him off so bad Rick’d be more than happy to punch his face as hard as he could – but he’d needed a break from the intensity of being together _all_ the time.

Lori was pretty and soft but strong and opinionated and he didn’t want her to shut up, ever. Especially when she was moaning his name into his ear as her legs were wrapped around his waist and her nails scoring deep gouges in his back. _That_ was always a _fuck yes keep talkin’ baby_ moment.

When she got pregnant, that was different too.

They got married fast, and Shane was there, beside him, smiling from ear to ear, suit immaculate no matter that he wore scuffed boots with it. His hair was neat and his face shaved and Rick still stared at his throat, no matter that Shane was jawing at him and no matter that Lori was beautiful (her bump so small she hid it easily) in her simple white dress, hair coiled endlessly on top of her head, his fingers clenching at the memory of winding in its length.

And then Shane was drunk at the reception and Rick had to slam him against the wall outside, shushing him and telling him _things aren’t gonna change, we’ll be the same I swear_ in order to keep the red, angry stare from haunting him for the rest of his life. Shane had jerked at Rick’s hair when Rick had kissed him, the two of them hidden behind some nattily pretty foliage, fairy lights in the greenery winking and blinking and reminding Rick of why he was here, and yet he still kissed Shane because the other man didn’t say a damn word anytime he did that. Not a sound, not a moan, nothin’ save a short breath now and then and a hitch of sound that could have been want or despair. Rick had no idea. It was always the same, even in this auspicious moment and place. Shane, the loudest person Rick knew, silent as the grave in moments of intimacy that should have called for spittin’ and kickin’ and bitin’ and all kinds of sound.

Shane had been quiet and solemn when he’d seen Rick and Lori off the next morning, their trip the beach a quick easy honeymoon and close. But his throat had been showing the telltale bruising and Rick swallowed his comments when Lori made mention of it – Shane popping his eyebrows and keeping his mouth shut, same as always.

Lori and the beach was a good idea. Rick and Lori and the beach was an even better one, and the week they spent there away from everything was enough to let Rick’s jets cool about Shane’s intensity and his friend’s drunken behavior at the reception.

Lori’d been resting after Carl was born, the little boy curled pink and soft in a blanket next to his mama when Shane had come to see them, the first visit after the birth. Rick’d been sleepy just watching the pair, _his family_ amazing really, and Shane had stood at the foot of the bed, hands rubbing his hair, thick and springy and long, five o’clock shadow casting his face into a darkness that made Rick want to frown and shake him. Or shove him into the back room and do things that he suspected would bring about the loss of his _new_ family, and that wasn’t an option any more.

_They look happy_ , Shane had said, his voice soft, his shirt gaping as he threaded his fingers on top of his head, the 22 necklace glinting in the tiny glow of the night light Rick had bought at Wal-Mart the day before, a knight on a horse perfect for a new son. He nodded and met Shane’s eyes evenly, without any flinching even when Shane’s lashes lowered and he dropped his hands. _You got a family, brother._

Carl had been two when Rick had kissed Shane again – 

He’d still been quiet and no sounds had come, save the soft breath and the grunt when they scrambled at one another, hands tearing shirt buttons, knees knocking into thick, ropey muscles, teeth scraping and biting. Still no sound, even then.

The bruises on Shane’s neck were big and blue the next day and thank God Lori had merely arched her eyebrows and laughed about Millie down the street, after which Shane had shrugged and cocked his head and simply smiled in agreement.

When he woke in the hospital, alone, broken still and terrified out of his mind, Rick’s thoughts had bounced like a damn kickball all over the place as he staggered through the fields of dead, the stench bringing his gorge up and the fear and worry over his family letting tears come when he didn’t want them. He thought about Carl’s face, his laugh and his eyes, and the baseball games they’d played in the backyard, Lori catching, Shane playing ump and letting the boy win.

He’d bounced again as he walked through the ghost town he lived in – sidewalks cracked and twisted, cars blocking the lanes as though the owner was just inside picking up their purse or keys – of Lori’s breathy way of saying his name, her eyes widening as she came, her long skinny fingers digging furrows in his biceps, her voice strong and thready and for him. He bounced once more, ricocheting thoughts, that damn kickball that wouldn’t rest to Shane, stubbled throat, big ears, curly hair and the pecs that Rick made fun of him for caring so much about. And he remembered that ringing silence between them, heavy and thick and sweaty and he had to sit down on the steps of the house he’d lived in, the dirty gown he still wore rising and letting his knobby knees stick out as he listed to one side, after screaming in vain for Lori and Carl to come back and wake him from this ridiculously stupid dream he’d found himself shuffling through, dead himself, he really should be.

_Bounce_

The knife in his hands is slick with Shane’s blood. The fog rolls over the field, the trees slimed with it, the moon bright despite the wetness and heaviness of it.

Rick swallows and crouches over Shane.

_You did this, not me. This wasn’t me!_

He hears a building scream and it’s his own, and he cries and moans and makes all the noise Shane never had when they’d been together.

He looks down at the body of his friend and can only see the other man’s throat, sometimes bruised, always stubbled, always silent in those moments when they should have said everything.

He stands and paces and the knife goes in his pocket, the blood warming it briefly, terribly, silently.


End file.
